


The Ghastly Ghost At The Shrieking Shack

by storyplease



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Horror, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 12:47:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5929020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyplease/pseuds/storyplease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Author’s Note: It is said that on Halloween, the spirits of the dead are able to communicate with the living.  This is my attempt at writing a spooky Halloween story with a twist.  Enjoy! </p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ghastly Ghost At The Shrieking Shack

******** Hermione Granger wasn’t one to believe in ghost stories.

 

Well, to be fair, she did believe in  _ ghosts _ .  After all, she did attend school in a haunted castle.  But the ghosts were mostly the friendly and helpful kind.  As long as one stayed away from the main halls in the dungeons after dark, due to the Bloody Baron’s propensity to rattle his chains and moan spookily, there really wasn’t anything to worry about.

 

Ghost stories, on the other hand, often turned out to be utter nonsense, even when coming from the lips of a ghost itself.  Nearly Headless Nick, for example, was often prone to telling rather fanciful tales that even his most ardent fans were loath to believe.

 

Hermione found that the best course of action was to nod and smile indulgently until it was finally over.  She’d also learned her lesson after attending Nick’s Deathday party.  She knew to always decline an invitation, no matter how intriguing, for ghosts often forgot the limitations of mortals.

 

And so, inevitably, when the rumors began to circulate about a dark, spectral figure appearing in the windows of the Shrieking Shack at night, Hermione had rolled her eyes and written it off as ludicrous. After all, she and her friends had learned first-hand that the horrible shrieks coming from the Shack were actually poor Remus Lupin in the throes of transforming into a werewolf.  Perhaps it was her muggle heritage, but Hermione had trouble believing in anything that she couldn’t prove herself, especially after she’d found a reasonable explanation for it once before.  

 

If there were any ghosts in the Shrieking Shack, there wasn’t much space for them to haunt. The structure was not only horribly structurally unsound due to the fire that had ravaged half of it, leaving it a charred mess, but even if there were ghosts inside, there wasn’t much for them to do.  After the final battle had ended with Voldemort dead and the remaining Death Eaters scattering to the wind, the Shack had been surrounded with No Entry wards by Ministry Aurors and so, the only ones who could get past them were those who had Clearance Level five or higher.

 

Not that anybody wanted to.

 

Hermione knew that she wasn’t required to finish her seventh year at Hogwarts.  Simply for having helped Harry to defeat Voldemort, she was given a number of medals, awards and a hefty amount of money was added to her Gringotts account, though a good amount of it was deducted to fix the damage that she and her friends had caused breaking out earlier.  Luckily for them, Charlie had sent in a ruthless young dragon that was causing problems in its home environment by trying to kill every other dragon in its pack for absolutely no reason to replace the old one, so the cost hadn’t been as big as the goblins had originally estimated. And so, though she had been given her pick of jobs at the Ministry, she’d declined them all and decided to finish her last year of schooling first. After all, if it was one thing Hermione hated, it was acting like the rules didn’t apply to her for no good reason.

 

And, though she wouldn’t admit it to anyone, a somewhat prideful, more obsessive part of her simply couldn’t bear to miss out on adding a seventh year of perfect marks to her permanent school record.

 

Hermione had begrudgingly accepted the position of Head Girl, keeping herself far busier than usual with helping organize the Prefects and putting on a number of fun school events to help the school’s student population feel more cohesive.  Halloween night was no different. They’d decided to create a massive haunted house in the Great Hall, which was chosen from a list of options by popular vote,  She had worked together closely with Hagrid, Professor Flitwick and Professor Sprout to get together an amazingly spooky experience that included just enough fun to promise a night that would not be forgotten.  Minister Shacklebolt had even offered the assistance of a team from the Department of Mysteries to artificially enlarge the Great Hall to accommodate the “haunted house” part of the festivities. The House ghosts were all too happy to oblige in helping out with providing jump scare moments, and the Hogwarts moving paintings dressed up for the festivities as well, moving from blank canvas to blank canvas placed in the “haunted house” at the Great Hall in order to give the most scares.

 

Hermione was more than proud of all of her work to make Halloween at Hogwarts a blast.  So, when she heard whispers from some of the students that there would be a secret party, one only for those in the know, located at the Shrieking Shack instead, she knew that she would need to put a stop to it herself.  After all, these were only whispers, and without any hard evidence, it would be difficult to bring it to the Heads of Houses or the Headmistress to be dealt with.

 

Hermione tried valiantly, but as Halloween grew closer, she found herself stymied. No one seemed to know who was in charge of the party, or who was going.  All she knew was the location of the party.  

* * *

 

On Halloween night, Hermione had the prefects increase the patrols in their respective Houses, hoping that this would help dissuade those from going to the Shack, but she began getting reports that several students had disappeared from the various Houses.

 

“Merlin’s bloody balls, is it too much to ask that they just enjoy the party that we’ve worked our arses off for over a month putting together?!” Hermione fumed, stomping down the front steps to the castle towards the Black Lake. 

 

She stunned the Whomping Willow and pressed the gnarled knot of wood near the base of the trunk, stooping and then crawling on her hands and knees through the underground tunnel.  She was glad that she’d decided to dress up as a black cat for the party, because the grime in the tunnel seemed to be worse than ever. She barely held back a shriek as a spider’s web pressed against her face, clawing it away and hoping that the sensation of tiny legs against her cheek was just her imagination.

 

Finally, she got to the trap door and hesitated.  Was she really willing to do this?  She’d not been back there, not since…

 

She shuddered, remembering the massive snake, Voldemort’s cruel, high laugh, the rivers of scarlet liquid pouring from Professor Snape’s throat as his memories leaked from his eyes like tears. She felt a stab of guilt, then.  She’d done nothing to help him, not that she’d had a chance to do so.  Her beaded bag was back in the forest somewhere. She didn’t have any Dittany or Blood Replenisher in her pockets.  And even that wasn’t completely effective against such potent venom. Still, leaving his body on the dusty floor seemed a bit harsh.  By the time the Ministry Aurors had appeared on the scene after the battle, the body was gone.  Even the blood had vanished.  Many believed that Snape was still somewhere, escaped to another country with the Malfoys, perhaps.  Still, Hermione knew what she’d seen.  No one could survive an attack like that, not even a Potions Master like Severus Snape.

 

She shook her head and pushed up on the trap door, wincing when it screamed loudly on its hinges. Reluctantly, it bent back and open, revealing the darkness beyond. It seemed even darker in the Shrieking Shack than it had been in the underground tunnel, if that was even possible.  Not missing a beat, Hermione drew a spectacles shaped sideways figure-eight in front of her eyes. 

 

“ _ Oculus Noctis _ !” she said softly, giving herself charmed night vision.

 

As she pulled herself up into the room, she could smell the charred wood from the fire, but amazingly, the walls and floor seemed to be free of fire damage.  There was a long, dark vein of charred wood running partway down the middle of the ceiling, but it was nowhere nearly as bad as the damage she’d seen on the north side of the Shack from the outside.  Hermione sidestepped some rubble on the ground and continued out of the door into the hallway.  It was easy to see that no one had been back inside since the Aurors had sealed the outside.

 

Just then, she heard a crack near the stairs, which were half-rotted with fire damage and mold.  She turned her head almost instantly, but saw nothing.

 

“C’mon! Lemme try!”

 

“Shh! Quiet! What if someone hears us?”

 

“Shut up, you idiot! There’s no one around for miles!”  

 

“This is going to be great! It’s not really haunted by Snape’s ghost, is it?”

 

“Oh shut it, Stebbins! You’ll see for yourself once we get through these stupid wards!”

 

A sound of collected voices came from near the front door and Hermione turned away from the stairs, anger rising up in her throat.

 

“So, you want a scary Halloween party?” she muttered to herself, an evil grin spreading across her face. “Well, then, I think that I can accommodate that.”

 

Hermione twisted her wand in a rather complicated motion and shot up a few feet in height, her skin going paler by several shades.  She manufactured glowing red eyes elongated the tip of her nose until it hooked sharply downward and sharpened her teeth to shark-like points.  It was hard to talk with a mouth full of jagged, knife-like teeth, but she doubted she’d need to say much. When it was over, it wouldn’t take much to cancel the transfiguration spells.  After all, she’d gotten much better at silent spell casting in that horrible year on the run.

 

She knew she didn’t look completely like Professor Snape, not without a dose of Polyjuice, and the sharp teeth and glowing red eyes were a bit over the top, but it would do, especially in the dark.

 

She could feel the wards falling as someone finally blasted them with a particularly violent spell.  The remains of the Shack shuddered on its foundation, filling the air with dust and debris and then all went still.

 

“My dad works for the Ministry so I snatched these ward breaking spells from his work satchel!” a girl’s voice said snootily.

 

Hermione made a mental note to have a talk with Kingsley about beefing up his security measures when this was all over.

 

A creak above her on the second floor unsettled some ceiling plaster, but she merely brushed it off of her shoulder, her eyes focused on the task ahead.

 

The door creaked open and Hermione stood to the side, diving behind a sofa as they opened it all of the way.  She made sure that her transfigured black robes were loud enough to make a flapping noise as she disappeared.

 

“What was that?” a high pitched boy’s voice cried out.

 

“Don’t piss your pants already, Jergins!” the girl from before, the one with the father at the ministry said sharply, her sneer audible in the sound of her voice.

 

A couple of other laughs followed her quip, but Hermione did nothing, holding herself in place and waiting for them to come closer.

 

“Oh...y...yeah?” the boy said, his voice quivering with fear. “Then why don’t you go inside first!”

 

“I can and I will!” the girl replied haughtily.  

 

Hermione heard the sound of a boot stepping over the threshold of the front door. There was a foot step.  Then another.  And then another.  The girl stood in the middle of the room, her hands on her hips.  The others were peering in around the open door, their eyes filled with fear.

 

“See?” she said loudly, grinning as she took another step inside, “I told you! This is the best place for an unofficial exclusive Halloween Bash!”

 

Hermione pushed a footstool from behind the sofa and it slid across the room, hitting one of the walls.

 

The girl turned with a start.  

 

“What was  _ that _ ?” the boy’s voice echoed through the doorway.

 

“It’s just...probably just some bats or something,” the girl replied. “Come on, then, you guys have to get in here too so that we can set up the party!”

 

No one volunteered to follow her.

 

“What is your problem?” she shouted, “I told you, there’s absolutely nothing to be-”

 

“Uh...Shelby?” the boy said, his eyes so wide that they shone almost white in the full moon’s light outside.

 

“What is it  _ now _ ?!” Shelby replied, annoyed.

 

“B...behind you!” he yelped, turning and running down the steps, tripping and falling several times with a grunt before picking himself up and screaming off into the night.

 

“What is  _ he _ babbling about?” Shelby said.

 

“That!” another girl, her hair up in pigtails, pointed, stepping backwards slowly.

 

Shelby turned, and her eyes widened to an almost comical size.  Behind her stood a giant, imposing figure clad in black with glowing red eyes.  It opened its diabolical mouth, revealing two rows of brightly shining razor sharp teeth, a hissing sound emanating from its mouth.

 

“That hooked nose!” The girl with pigtails cried out.

 

“Those eyes!” A boy with dreadlocks yelped.

 

“MERLIN’S BALLS!!!! IT’S SNAPE!!!!!” screamed Shelby, her feet barely touching the floor as she flew backwards towards the door and took off down the stairs.  The other children screamed as the figure pointed a wand at them, shooting a shower of sparks at their receding backs.

 

When the frightened would-be partygoers were gone, Hermione emerged from the darkened hole around the front door, her body transfigured back to normal, save her cat costume, which was a bit grimier than she would have liked.  She grinned a bit evilly at the fright she’d just orchestrated as well as the seamless way she’d worked the Tracking Spell into the farce without ruining the effect. There would be a number of very sorry-faced children being called to the Headmistress’s office in the morning. She would be sure to give the Headmistress plenty of details regarding their stunt and ensure they got the most drudgerous detentions as a punishment. 

 

Looking to either side of the dilapidated porch, Hermione noticed a number of picnic baskets and decorations lining the ground.  One of the baskets had tipped over in the scuffle, but the rest seemed just fine, including a cask of elf-made wine.

 

Hermione did have to admit that all of this scaring had made her awfully thirsty.

 

She levitated all of the items and brought them into the front room, setting them down on the dusty couch and Scourgifying the room as best she could.  She conjured some blue flames and charmed them to float about the room, giving off long shadows.

 

There was a coffee table on its side near one of the walls and she pulled it away, cleaning it off with her wand.  She placed the table in front of the couch and moved the food and drink over to the table before cleaning the majority of the dust and grime off of the couch as well.  There was a long rip down one side that looked as though it had been made with claws, as well as a part of the arm that suspiciously looked as though it had been gnawed by puppy teeth, but the left side was still perfectly serviceable, though it did smell a bit musty.

 

Hermione conjured a glass and poured a glass of wine, savoring the scent before taking a sip.  She pulled a number of delicious baked goods that were still warm and wrapped in cloth napkin, creating a veritable feast.

 

There was a creak by the hallway, but Hermione didn’t put her wine glass down until she saw the figure standing there, looking like a gaunt shadow at first glance.

 

Hermione knew the difference.  But the night vision helped.

 

“I didn’t realize that the rumors were true,” Hermione said, trying to pretend that she wasn’t as scared as she felt inside.  After all, everyone knew that ghosts couldn’t hurt people.

 

At least, she was reasonably sure that they couldn’t.

 

“They aren’t,” said the husky, but still recognizable voice of Severus Snape as he stepped into the room. “I’m not a ghost.  But I should be.”

 

“W...what are you then?” Hermione’s voice quivered.

 

He grinned toothily, revealing two long fangs.

 

“Exactly what you think I am,” he replied, his black eyes glimmering in the blue firelight.

 

Hermione leaned forward in her seat, the food on the table left forgotten.

 

“But...how?” she breathed.

 

He chuckled, then, and it sounded like the dry rasp of leaves in the wind, more tired than menacing.

 

“Leave it to you to ask questions instead of fleeing in terror as you should be doing.” He stepped closer to her, “Aren’t you afraid of me, Miss Granger?”

 

“Hermione,” she countered, “You’re not my professor any longer, so you can call me by my first name.”

 

“Is that so?” he grinned ghoulishly, but Hermione merely fixed him with a disinterested expression and his lips went flat, his eyes growing narrow with annoyance.

 

“You don’t scare me, Snape...or should I call you Severus?” Hermione replied, grinning evilly herself.

 

He took a step back in shock, his fangs receding behind his upper lip.

 

“How dare you?” he said, his voice thick with surprise.

 

“Oh, I see how it is,” Hermione replied, her grin widening, “Ok, then, Se-ver-us. If I’m going to have a bloody terrible Halloween, the least you can do is join me in drinking some of the good elf-made wine.  I’ve done my research.  I know that vampires can drink it safely.”

 

He took another step backwards but froze at the mention of the wine.  Hermione could see the naked hunger on his face under the well-practised control.

 

“I could bite you, Hermione,” he said quietly, after a long pause. “I could drain you dry, or worse, turn you into another of my kind.”

 

“But you won’t, will you?” Hermione replied, patting the space next to her.

 

Severus said nothing, and for a moment, Hermione thought that he was going to disappear into the shadows again.  Moving more quickly and quietly than Hermione thought possible, he took a seat next to her.  He seemed to be barely hovering over the edge of the couch, as though he was ready to flee at any moment.  Hermione conjured up a second glass and poured half a glass of wine for him.

 

“I’m not sure if you’re much of a drinker,” she said politely, “but I do know that this is pretty potent, so moderation is key.”

 

“I know more than a few people who could have benefitted from that sentiment,” Severus replied, swirling the liquid around in the glass before taking a sip. “Ahhh, it has been far too long.”

 

They sat in silence for a long time, Hermione shooting furtive looks at Severus and Severus pretending not to see them.

 

Finally, Hermione couldn’t hold herself back any longer.

 

“Were you the one putting out the rumors of a ghost at the Shrieking Shack to keep people away?” Hermione asked.

 

“Why would you think that?” Severus replied shortly, “The last thing I need is to give anyone an excuse to go poking around here because of some silly rumors.”

 

“Oh.” Hermione picked up her glass of wine and grabbed a pumpkin pasty with her other hand, taking a small bite.

 

“Why do you ask?” 

 

His question seemed to hang in the air and Hermione tried to hide her amazement.  This was the first time he’d initiated conversation with her in practically the entire time she’d known him. In fact, he’d gone out of his way  _ not _ to call on her in class, so this was doubly surprising.

 

“Well, there’s been a rumor going around the school…” Hermione felt her face growing hot under his unreadable stare. 

 

“Funny, I had not pegged you for a gossip,” Severus sipped his wine with a thoughtful look on his face.

 

“Hey! That’s not what I-!” Hermione replied irritably, “Well, in any case, some stupid students decided they just  _ had _ to come down here and throw an unauthorized Halloween party here because of it.”

 

“And you decided you just  _ had _ to stop them.  How terribly Gryffindor of you.” Severus had placed his glass on the table and was crossing his arms, one eyebrow raised nearly up to his hairline.

 

Hermione felt a strange sensation fluttering in her chest.  Had she... _ amused _ him?

 

“Well, you know, this building is really rather unsafe,” Hermione replied with a sniff, “and, speaking of unsafe, what are  _ you _ doing in here, anyway?”

 

“I don’t exactly have anywhere  _ to _ go, you know,” Severus replied bitterly. “There is also the rather inconvenient fact that I am rather... _ flammable _ ...after sunrise.”

 

Hermione thought for a moment.

 

“How did you…? I mean...if you don’t mind talking about it...” She shifted nervously on the couch, staring at her half-eaten pumpkin pasty.

 

“Well, I don’t have to tell you anything, but...as you probably can tell from the wound, I got bitten by a giant bloody snake,” Severus started, unbuttoning the top button of his robes and pointing at the scarred area under the slightly raised lump of his Adam’s Apple, “Apparently the Dark Lord was rather successful in getting vampires to join his cause, and since they have rather...astute noses when it comes to blood, it wasn’t too long before one found me and took what she could. She saw my Mark when she was rolling up my sleeve to drink, and decided to turn me to gain the Dark Lord’s favor.  I don’t remember much after that.  I was far too weak.  When I woke up, I was here, alone.  I’ve been sustaining myself on rats and spiders, but it’s no substitute for the real thing.”

 

Hermione stared at him.

 

“But...why haven’t you come forward?  Surely Harry could clear your name!” she said, wringing her hands.

 

“I don’t even know why I’m telling you this!” Severus snapped suddenly, standing up and placing his wine glass down on the table with a soft clink. “My mind must be going soft from being isolated!”

 

“Please! Sit down!” Hermione pleaded, “I promise...if you don’t want to talk about something I’ll respect it.  I just...can you blame me for wanting to help you?”

 

Severus froze and looked at her, his eyes widening slightly with surprise.

 

“What do you mean?  Why would  _ you _ ever want to help someone like  _ me _ ?” he asked, his voice quiet and flat.

 

“First off, you’re obviously not doing well.  Feeding off of vermin...it’s simply...barbaric!” Hermione replied, nearly shaking her finger at him, “and secondly, nearly everyone knows what you’ve done to ensure the death of Voldemort!”   
  


Severus flinched as she said the name as though expecting something horrible to happen, but when the seconds ticked on in silence, he seemed to relax slightly.

 

“So...it’s truly over?” he asked quietly. “I couldn’t dare to hope…”

 

“Yes, it’s over! It’s been over for quite some time! Why can’t you seem to believe that it’s true?” Hermione replied insistantly, “Do I have to show you Voldemort’s cold, rotting corpse for you to believe me?”

 

“It would be a start,” Severus replied, his arms crossed so tightly across his thin frame that he looked as though he were hugging himself. “You can’t know the horror I felt when my Mark began to burn again...they said that he was defeated before, but he  _ still came back eventually _ . Forgive me for not having much in the way of faith in the so-called powers that be!”

 

“Did you look at it?” Hermione said softly, her eyes on his long-sleeved arm.

 

“What?” 

 

“Did you check your Mark?” Hermione said, her voice growing slightly stronger. “We found that all of the Death Eaters who were captured alive have a discolored smear where the Mark used to be.  It doesn’t just fade.  It completely loses its shape.”

 

Severus stared silently at her, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief as he rolled up his sleeve with trembling fingers.  When he held his forearm up to the floating blue flame, all that they could see was the discolored blob that lay where the Mark had been before.

 

“He….he  _ is _ gone, then,” Severus said, sitting down hard and covering his mouth with his hands, his sides heaving with relief, his eyes glittering with unshed tears.  Hermione’s eyes widened as tears finally flowed from his eyes, dripping down the sides of his nose and hitting the floor loudly.

 

“He’s gone. For good.” Hermione placed a hand on his knee instinctively in an attempt to comfort him.  

 

She expected for him to flinch and pull away, but he surprised her by simply looking numbly over at her hand and then at her face, as though searching it for signs of lying, his eyes wide with tears as he began to break down and sob like a child.

 

Hermione could not stand to simply sit there while his body heaved with the weight of the grief he’d kept stored inside for so long. She pulled her hand away from his knee, wincing a bit when his knee moved to follow her touch.  She had never noticed before how starved of positive affection he was...not until now.  She stood abruptly and faced him, pushing the coffee table back a bit to make room.

 

“Wha...what are y...you-?” he blubbered, cut off by her bending down and wrapping her arms around him. 

 

He was bony and light under her touch that Hermione was almost certain that she could lift him up, even though he was still much taller than she was.  He shook slightly in a feeble attempt to dislodge her, but when she only tightened her grip on him and stroked his hair, a broken moan escaped his lips and he shuddered under her, allowing his tears to fall against the fabric of her costume without any thought to propriety.  His hands curled around her, holding onto her like a drowning man at sea, and he buried his face against her and cried until his energy was spent.

 

His breathing eventually slowed and seemed to stop, his body still pressed limply against hers.  Even though her arms ached from holding onto him so long, she refused to let go. Somehow, without needing to hear the words from his lips, she knew that he needed this.  It was almost ironic to think that, after having defended him for years and being treated with disdain and annoyance, she was actually  _ comforting _ Severus Snape.  A part of her mind reeled at the very thought of it.

 

He let out a shuddering sigh at last and she could feel him raising his head against the fabric of her costume.

 

“Hermione?”

The sound of her name in his ragged, husky voice made sent a shiver up her spine, but it was anything but frightening.

 

“Yes?” 

  
  


“What exactly is this material? Flannel? Why are you wearing pajamas in a place like this?” he croaked, rubbing his cheek against it, seemingly unaware of the fact that he looked like a cat marking her with its scent.

 

“Well, if you must know,” Hermione replied, her voice somewhat puzzled at his abrupt change of topic, “It’s a costume. It’s made of a thing called fleece. It’s a new Muggle thing, kind of like flannel but less itchy.  I bought them from a halloween shop.  I’m a black cat.”

 

He pulled away slightly, looking up at her, confusion in his red-rimmed eyes.

 

“A  _ cat _ ?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly.

 

“Yes, a cat,” she replied matter-of-factly. “It’s Halloween, Severus.  People dress up on Halloween.”

 

Idly, she wondered when calling him by his first name had ceased to feel anything but natural.

 

“I...I’m aware of that…” he spluttered, looking flustered.

 

“I don’t want to leave you here,” she said softly, stroking his hair. “Please.  Come with me.”

 

“And where will we go?” he replied bitterly, “Up to the Ministry to leave my fate to their fickle politics?  Back to good old Hogwarts, where I am most well-known for my final exit after battling against its new Headmistress? Back to the house I stayed during the summers, cold and drafty and full of terrible memories?  I expect it’s either been burned down or seized by the Ministry already in any case.”

 

Hermione nodded.  “They placed a Trace Ward over the property when they finally found it.  It’s very subtle but it would alert them if you tried to get in.  But...it’s not because they want to send you to Azkaban.”

 

“Oh, really?” Severus fixed her with skeptical look and Hermione remembered all of the other promises that had been broken before, the innocents in Azkaban, the Death Eaters allowed to run amok in the Ministry...and then there was Umbridge...

 

“Well...I guess that you’re right to be paranoid,” she replied, “After all, the Ministry doesn’t have the best track record at fairly meting out justice.”

 

“Mmmhmmmm....” he mumbled, his eyes closing as his body began to go limp.

 

“Severus? Severus!  What’s wrong?”  Hermione cried out, shaking him gently.

 

“Used...energy...low…” he chuckled wryly. “Sleep...have…”

 

“You’re not making sense!” Hermione said, her voice filled with rising panic, “Please! You need to stay awake!”

 

She tried slapping his cheeks gently but his eyes only opened halfway.  He was slumped against her more bonelessly than before, and she could practically feel the energy leaving his body.

 

“No,” she said resolutely, “Not again.  Not if I can do something about it!”

 

She pulled her wand out and pointed it at her wrist, making a few shallow cuts.  She grunted with pain as the blood welled up, but she didn’t care.  She  _ had _ to do something.

 

“Severus,” she whispered, “ _ Please _ .  Eat.  You need your strength.”

 

He shook his head feebly, but she grabbed his chin gently, pulling his face up so that her bloody wrist was under his nose.

 

His eyes went wide and his fangs slid out almost immediately as he stared hungrily at the red warmth dripping down the palm of her hand.

 

“I trust you, Severus.  I know you’ll make sure that I am safe.” Hermione let the blood slip down her fingers and pressed the liquid between his lips.  

 

He shuddered with pleasure at the taste and slowly began to suckle at her wrist, pulling the warmth of her blood from her.  His fangs slipped into the cut, numbing the pain and pleasure grew around it until Hermione was practically collapsed on top of him, her mind hazy with the sheer bliss of his bite.

 

When his fangs slipped back into his mouth, Hermione blinked and stared at the place where her cut had been.  All that was left was a tiny silver scar.

 

“Thank you, Hermione,” Severus said softly, his eyes still half-lidded with sated sleepiness as he looked down at her. “I know I don’t deserve it, but...thank you.”

 

Hermione blinked, trying to reorient herself. She wasn’t sure when it had happened, but she was lying on the couch with her head on his lap, looking up at him.  His hand was on her head, stroking her hair the way she’d done to him earlier and she felt herself closing her eyes with pleasure.  Somehow, none of this seemed strange at all.  It seemed almost surreal to think that only hours before she’d  _ known _ that he was dead, and yet, now she was here, and he was stroking her hair in a maddeningly comforting manner, his eyes unblinking as they fixated upon hers.

 

“Severus,” she said softly, “ _ Please _ , come with me.”

 

“I can’t,” he replied, his expression and his voice full of indecision.

 

“Please.”

 

“But-”

 

“Please!”

 

“I-”

 

“Please, Severus. I will never allow harm to come to you,”  Hermione said firmly.  

 

“How can you promise something like that?” The bitterness in his voice was nearly palpable.

 

“Would you like me to take a Vow?” Hermione asked, staring back unblinkingly, “Because I will, if that is what it takes for you to believe me.”

 

“No! I….no...you don’t…” Severus sighed. “I took a Vow once and it nearly killed me. I would never wish that upon you.”

 

“I’m Head Girl,” Hermione said gently.   
  


“Of course you are,” Severus replied tiredly.

 

“I wasn’t finished!” Hermione said, her eyes narrowing slightly. “What I meant is that as Head Girl, I get to stay in my own room.  It’s rather large and does not have any paintings on its walls.”

 

“Are you suggesting what I  _ think _ you’re suggesting?” Severus scoffed, “It would never work! You would be...and I....It would never work!”

 

“You’re a vampire, Severus.  You need a regular source of willing blood. And, if I’m not mistaken, you know a way to brew a doubly potent blood replenisher so that I will not have to worry about anemia.  You need a room where you will not be exposed to daylight.  Besides, you wouldn’t be trapped in my room forever.  I know for a fact that you’ve been in that castle for almost longer than you’ve been alive.  You know how not to be seen.  And if anyone  _ does _ see you, you’ve got the convenient cover of being  _ dead _ to keep the rumor mills from kicking into overdrive.”  Hermione raised her hand and poked Severus at the tip of his pointed nose as though to say  _ check and mate _ .

 

“Well, if I were to hypothetically agree to this shenanigan, which I’m not saying I am, I’d need a place to sleep!” Severus said shortly, but he still didn’t move away from her touch.

 

“We could work something out,” Hermione said, smirking, “Or are you afraid of living with a girl?”

 

“It’s not...You’re not a... _ girl… _ .you’re...you’ve...er... _ matured… _ ” He looked away, obviously realizing how untoward he sounded.

 

Hermione felt her cheeks growing hot and she laughed nervously. “I...I’m not trying to seduce you or anything, Severus...er...I mean...argh...no, that came out totally wrong...I...ah…”

 

“We are terrible at this, aren’t we?” Severus said, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

 

“Yep.” Hermione said, rubbing her temples.

 

“So....”

 

“So….”

 

They sat in silence for a long time, listening to the foundation of the Shack settling with a groaning thump.

 

“Well, maybe we can be terrible at this together, then?”  Severus said, finally, his voice growing almost shrill as he finished.

 

Hermione reached up and cupped his cheek gently, looking deeply into his eyes.

 

“I’m willing to try,” she said softly.

  
  


It was nearly midnight when Hermione finally left the Shack with a Disillusioned Severus in tow.  She used the Marauder’s Map to slip by unnoticed to her room.  There was one window, which she charmed so that light could not come in through the glass, but it looked normal from the outside, just in case anyone got suspicious.  At first, she transfigured her couch into a bed for Severus, but since he largely did not need much sleep due to his altered state, she gave him access to her small study, which included a small library, a desk and a comfortable set of chairs.  More than once, Hermione would wake up in the morning for classes and peek into the small room to see Severus leaning back against one of the chairs, sleeping with a book in his lap.  She would always levitate a blanket over his lap and place a pillow behind his head.  For, despite his past as a spy, the new Severus Snape slept like the dead.

 

In the end, they brewed enough of his enhanced blood replenisher for Hermione to never worry about being rendered anemic by his feeds.  At first, it was as clinical as possible- he’d feed from her wrist and try to keep it as short as possible.  But then, one night, after they’d had one too many jabs at each other in a friendly debate over her study desk about the merits of becoming an Animagus, Hermione had impulsively lunged slightly forward and caught Severus on the lips with her own.  One tentative kiss had led to another and another, and before either knew what was happening, he’d taken her on the desk, his eyes rolling back into his head as he gently sunk his fangs into her neck while she moaned and writhed underneath him.

 

“Soon, Severus,” she whispered to him, pressing her warm, naked body against the coolness of his under the sheets of her bed. “Soon, we shall be free.”

 

He shuddered with delight as she wrapped her arms around him and scooted closer to her, his fangs poking slightly out from his top lip the way they always did when he was happy after a feed.  His eyes were as black as they always were, but they held a lightness, a sense of happiness that had not been there before.  He even smiled from time to time, which transformed his face until he was nearly unrecognizable from the surly, angry man he’d been before. She also felt her own insecurities about the future begin to fade.  After all, they had each other, and she knew that he would protect her as fiercely as she protected him.

 

Whatever had started on that Halloween night had brought them both something that they’d both desperately needed, and while Hermione was not much of a believer in either fate or the fabled wild magic that supposedly filled the air on All Hallow’s Eve, she was unbelievably grateful to have been given a second chance.  And every night, when Severus pressed his body against hers, their fingers entwined as they read together on the couch, she was certain that he was thankful beyond words for his as well.


End file.
